The Cecil Whig., 1887-06-25
BILL NYE'S RAILWAY PASS.
Lines on Returning the blasted ID pcuIncI t
to the Genial Giver.

Lines on Returning the blasted ,cumcIt
TO the Genial Giver.
HrpsoN, WIS, March 3O,I1SS7.
" f. UhHe, Esq, GeneraI Passenger
AgeM itcAtson. Iopehd 0nd SANTA Ft
R"drOad, Topeku, Han.:
Dear Sri inclose herewith annual
pass No. q O35 for self and family over
your justly celebrated road during the
year 1887. | also return your photograph
and the letters you have written me dur
ing the past five years. Will you kindly
return mine? And SO this brief and beau
tiiul experience is to end and each of us
must 60 his own way hereafter.
Alas,
To you this may be easy, but it brings
Il pang to my heart which your gentle
letter Of the lSt inst, cannot wholly ale
yiate.
Whenever hereafter you look upon this
tear. .speckled pass will you not think of
me? Remember that you have cast me
from you and that am wandering across
the bleak and windswept plains sadly
enumcrating the ties on my way to eter-
nifty.
do not say this to reproach you, for
fear that you care for another, aud so
we could not be happy again together.
But, oh. do you pause to fully compIe-
hend the pang it costs me to return this
pIeasant-faced little pass with its condi-
tions on the back? Could you see me
even now as | write these lires, turning
away ever and anon, laying aside my
trembling pen to go and sit by the CRATE
and shudder and weep and put out the
fire with my bitter tears, your heart
would soften and you would say: Return,
o Warderer, return.
You do not say in your letter that l
have been false to you or that | have
ever grown cold. You do not charge me
with intidelity OF failure to provide. YCu
simply say that it would be better for
each to go his several ways forgetting
that my several ways t.re passing away,
passing away.
1t is all well enough for you to talk
about going your several ways. You
have every facility for doing so, but with
me it is different. Several years ago
large Northwestern cyclone and myself
tried to pass each other on the same
track. When the wrecking crew found
me | was in the crotch of a butternut tree.
with a broken leg. Since that time |
have walked with great difficulty, and to
go my several ways has been very ser
ious matter with me.
But do not want you to think that |
am murmuring. l accept my doom
calmly, yet with slight tinge of una
vailing regret.
Some time perhaps, in the middle of
the dark and angry night, when the cold
blasts wall through the telegraph wires
and the crashing sleet rushes with wild
and impetuous fury against the windows
of your special car, as you lie warmly en-
sconced in your voluptuous berth and
hear the pitles winds with hoarse and
croupy means chase each other around
the Kansas haystacks or shrek wildly
away as they light out for their cheerless
home in the Bad Lands, will you not
think of me as | grope on blindly though
the keen and pitiless blasts stumbling
over cattle-guards, falling into culserts
and beating out my rare young brains
against your rough right of way, will you
not think of me? | do not ask much of
you, but do ask this as we separate for
ever.
AS you whiz by me do not treat me
with contumely, or throw crackers at me
when have meekly turned out to let
your naughty old train go by. | have
always spoken of you in highest terms,
and hope you will do the same by me.
Life is short at the best, and it is es-
pecially SO for those who have to walk.
Walking has already shortened my life a
great deal, and wouldn't be surprised if
the exposure and buuions of the year
1887 carr d me oft, leaving gap in
American literature that will look like
new cellar.
Should any of your engineers or track
men find me froZsn in cut next winter,
when the grass gets short and the nights
get long, will you kindly ask them to re-
port the brand to your auditor and in.
struct him to allow my family what he
thinks would be right? | hate to write
to you in this detected manner, but you
cannot understand how heavy my heart
is to day as pen these lines.
| wish you and yonr beautiful road un-
mitigatcd success. 1t is good road, for
| have passed over it and enjoyed it.
How different the country will look to
me as | go bounding from tie TO tie,
slowly repeating to myself the trite re-
mark once made by the Governor of
North Carolina to the Executive of South
Carolina.
| hope you may never know what it is
to pull into the quaint little city of La
Junta with the dust of many mile upon
you and the thirst of long, uncventful
journey in your throat. Ihope that Con-
gress will not pass law next year which
will make it a felony for a railroad man
to say gosh without a permit. | hope
that your life will be chuck full of hur-
rah and hallelujah, even if mine should
be always black and joylesS.
Can | do your road any good, either at
home or abroad? Can be of service to
you over your right of way, by collecting
nuts, bolts, old iron or other bric-a brac?
| would be glad to influence immigration
or pull weeds between the tracks if you
would be willing to regard me as an en-.
plOyee.
| will now take list look at the fair,
young features of your pass before finally
sealing this letter. How sad to see an
morning, ere one-fourth of its race has
been run, How touchful to part from it
forever.
What sad year this has been So far,
Earthquakes, fires, storms, railway dis
asters and death in every form have Wis
tied our country, and now like the Bit
ing blasts from Siberia, or the nipping
frost from Manitoba comes the Congress
sional cut-worm, cutting off the early
crop of Towering ANNALS Just as they
budded to bloom into beauty and useful
ness!
| will now close this sad letter to go
over into the vacant lot, behind the high
fence, where | can sob in an unlettered
way without shaking the glass out OF my
easement.
Yours, with crockful of unshed tears
on hand, BILL NYE.